


Sweet Decay

by Eline (Sans_Souci)



Category: Saiyuki
Genre: Angst, Backstory, Dubious Consent, M/M, Multi, Reincarnation, Retelling
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2003-10-02
Updated: 2016-03-08
Packaged: 2017-11-15 12:08:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/527144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sans_Souci/pseuds/Eline
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dissatisfaction in Heaven. Envy on Earth. Smut somewhere in there. And all there is in the end is you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lifetimes

* * * * * * * * * * *

It began one day in Heaven. One day that was no different from any other in the perfect realm of the gods.

Perfection. The ennui of the gods. Attainable through the millennia of unchanging, unceasing boredom. Much like the patches of tamed wilderness in the Heavenly courts.

Perfectly pruned shrubs, kept out of the way of the footpaths under the trees--which were in full bloom, of course. How could it be otherwise when the Dowager was holding a tea party in the middle of the artfully crafted grove to celebrate the talents of her handmaids?

Quite a few would have killed just to be included on the guest list. Not that killing was permitted here. The immortals gathered there were supposed to be privileged. Privileged to hear a coterie of Heavenly maidens strum the shamisen and the zither. The honour of watching the Dowager's tea ceremony. The opportunity to start reciting flattering poetry in front of the venerable immortal.

Well, that sort of thing was for those with invitations . . .

Homura had felt no inclination to shift himself from the spot he had been occupying since morning when he had seen the gathering of immortals. No one would come across him here in this secluded nook in the grove of evergreens. This particular stand of trees was not nearly as well tended as the other neat shrubs and its imperfection had made it seem a little more welcoming than the others.

And the prince took a small measure of pleasure in observing the foolish and the sycophantic while they were unaware of his presence. While he was not a scholar or particularly fond of the arts, some of the poetry was really quite bad and the lady playing the zither should have tuned her instrument a little more carefully. Or perhaps it was just due to sweaty palms . . .

It was almost like some comical play, but his initial amusement was wearing off, replaced by irritation at the inanity of it all. 

He was not of their kind. He was half-mortal and therefore a hybrid and a forbidden one at that. He would not _be_ one of them.

And unlike these smug, bored immortals, he would die some day. A thought like _that_ would serve to decrease the monotony of life--which was why animals, in their desperate quest for survival, had no concept of _boredom_.

Once, he had been indifferent to death and the cessation of his existence. Until _her_. He could still count the days they had been together until the inevitable had happened.

A necessary preventative step. No more halflings. But she had been exiled instead. The non-existent logic of that sentence had stunned him. And now he was merely angry. Angry at his own ancestry, which had efficiently denied him a quick mortal end and condemned him to a prolonged death sentence. The blood that made him unfit to be seen at gatherings like this and yet less expendable than that of pure bred immortals.

Homura wanted nothing more than to be away from here. The perfume from the blossoming trees was suddenly sickly sweet and the latest poet seemed far worse than his peers. He should have looked for a discreet way out earlier. For now, he was stuck here in this small space with a pair of stone benches and his own thoughts for company--

Or perhaps not so alone anymore. The sound of heels on the paving stones leading into this sheltered copse alerted him to an intruder. It would be just his luck if it was some pair of courtiers, bored of the bad poetry and seeking someplace engage in a little private frolicking. But the newcomer was alone and almost instantly recognisable.

Homura knew a little about him--after that time at the Emperor's birthday and the most entertaining fight that had broken out there. It had not been hard to find out a little more about the participants to that little brawl--they were all rather intriguing characters. The Marshal, the General and the itan boy. A child born from the earth and no mortal parent. The fact that they had to keep him chained like that bespoke a power that even the gods were afraid of. Homura had filed all of that away carefully for future reference. 

But the boy's keeper . . . 

That the son of a Buddha and nephew to Kanzeon Bosatsu--Konzen Douji himself--would lower himself to interfere . . .

He had heard about the court's most reclusive and unfriendly deity--the whispers were never very soft in the Courts of Heaven. Another divine paper-pusher. Cold, arrogant and probably as frigid as an icicle. But they never said much about that long blond hair or the fine features that were, at present, marred by a look of absolute and complete boredom.

"Oh . . . I didn't know that this spot was occupied." Largely indifferent to his surroundings, Konzen probably did not even notice who he was speaking to. He made to leave and Homura inclined his head lazily.

"Konzen Douji, I presume?"

Mild irritation flashed across his face before it was masked by blandness--he did not seem to want to talk, or perhaps he had known too many sycophants who desired influence with his exalted relation far too many times. "You have the advantage of me . . ." Homura felt a twinge of dark satisfaction as Konzen finally noticed the chains. " _Homura Taishi_?"

Apparently, he was not _that_ out of the loop yet.

"I think all the other spots are occupied at the moment . . ."

Konzen grimaced in distaste, no doubt following a similar train of thought as to what was going on in the artful scattering of pavilions and shelters. 

"If you're as bored as I already am, you're more than welcome to sit down," Homura offered. Even when it was not his place to offer, even when he was not supposed to be here. However, Konzen did not appear to think anything was amiss.

"It _is_ boring," Konzen said, slumping down on the other stone bench. "Some of that poetry was atrocious."

"True enough. I couldn't haven sat through that last poet's reading a moment longer."

"Not by choice anyway," Konzen said through gritted teeth. 

"Oh?"

"I'm here in place of . . . someone else . . ." 

Homura had a very good idea of just whom Konzen was standing in for. No matter what the occasion, Kanzeon Bosatsu was invited as a matter of courtesy. Konzen looked as though he had been about to say something else entirely, but had reined it in just in time.

"Is the Goddess of Mercy indisposed?" Homura asked, more out of curiosity than any real concern.

"Hardly," Konzen snorted, not even bothering to deny Homura's assumption. "The Goddess of Mercy doesn't usually bother with this sort of thing. I was sent because it was an invitation from the Dowager herself."

"Well she certainly sounds different from what I was led to believe . . ."

"They," Konzen said automatically.

"Excuse me?"

" _'They'_. Or hir. Not 'her' or 'she'. Technically speaking."

Homura adjusted this particular idea in his mind for a moment before responding. "I had no idea that those rumours were accurate . . . in such a technical fashion."

"It's true," Konzen said, a faint trace of distaste evident in his voice and frown. Or it could have been his usual expression. "It gets more obvious if you're working in their--hir--direct chain of command."

Homura had nothing in particular to do and had the day at his leisure, but discussing gender pronouns with Konzen Douji had not been among any of his plans. It was still better than speculating what kind of opiates the supposed poets over there had been using when they had been seized by the urge to write.

Further conversation was interrupted by more footsteps. Definitely more than one person this time. A soft feminine giggle in response to some whispered endearments clearly identified the motives of these newcomers.

Konzen swore under his breath. Homura glanced around the verdant shade of the small clearing in exasperation. That tea party should have wound down by now . . .

He shrugged mentally and crossed the intervening space between the stone benches.

"Excuse me," he said and bent to kiss Konzen.

Caught off balance, Konzen instinctively clutched at Homura's shoulders to prevent himself from falling backwards.

From behind them, there was a stifled gasp and the sound of footsteps retreating rapidly down the footpath again.

Homura straightened up carefully. With luck, they would have seen only two vague figures in the dappled shadows of the grove.

"I don't think they'll come back here again," he said to the glaring, motionless figure perched on the bench. "I'm going to be rude and leave this party early . . ."

Homura prudently left the grove before Konzen could find his tongue again, dodged several servitors and made his way out of the gardens swiftly. All in all, it had been a boring day. Except for that look on Konzen's face . . .

* * * * * * * * * * *

_Which was not the same as the expression of scornful boredom Genjo Sanzo wore, but the undercurrent of anger was there. While Konzen had been quick-tempered and eternally irate, Sanzo fairly smouldered with banked rage._

_A kind of rage that bubbled through to the surface at times like this. When his bullets had proved useless against the three gods, and his three followers were unable to keep up . . ._

_And Homura had merely been testing their mettle in a pitiful excuse for a skirmish._

_He signalled Zenon and Shien to disengage, knowing that they could be relied upon to keep their power in check at times like this._

_"We'll meet again, Konzen." That was a promise._

_Sanzo's snarled curse was the last thing they heard as they teleported away._

_"Homura, I do not understand. Is this baiting really necessary for Son Goku's development? We could have taken them easily," Shien said when they were back at the Tower._

_"All in good time," Homura replied placidly._

_"I think you just like playing with them," Zenon said bluntly._

_Homura bared his teeth in what could have been a smile. "But you must admit that they're rather fun to play with . . ."_

* * * * * * * * * * *


	2. Night Times

* * * * * * * * * * *

There was very little amusement to be had in Heaven. The days passed in monotony, even for _itan_ princes of Tentei's household.

That incident in the gardens remained as a vaguely amusing memory until the day Homura glimpsed a lanky figure being towed along in the wake of a small child. They had just emerged from Kanzeon Bosatsu's Palace and were heading out somewhere in the vicinity of the offices used by the militia. The boy seemed vastly more enthused about where they were going than Konzen was.

The _itan_ boy and his keeper . . . They did not appear to be having the kind of relationship that most of the gossip implied. Homura's extremely brief acquaintance with Konzen Douji had been . . . _interesting_ to say the least. The way the man had reacted--as though he had never been kissed before . . .

So perhaps those rumours about Konzen Douji being uninterested in women had been true. And the same could probably be said about his non-inclination towards members of the same sex. In a very literal sense.

Completely untouched. Homura found it fascinating that Konzen had managed to remain that way, here in Heaven where corruption was practised with as much vigour as it was down on Earth--only less inventively because the gods had far less imagination than what mortals gave them credit for.

His next meeting with Konzen Douji occurred when he least expected it. He had been out until the approach of dusk signalled the end of another long day in Heaven. It was the kind of sight that artists supposedly give their left arms for. 

Homura watched the fading of the light from just outside the decorative boundary that divided the Royal Palace from the rest of Heaven, though not out of appreciation for the view. He was in no hurry to return to the Palace. The marbles halls held no allure for him--they were only walled-in spaces and he did not miss them in the least.

He was a part of the royal household and yet apart from it. There were no expectations of him other than having the grace to die someday so that the shame of his birth and parentage could be wiped from existence and memory. 

So he walked alone. Not actively avoiding the courtiers of Heaven, but never actively seeking them out. But it was almost impossible to be alone in the Courts of Heaven.

The approaching figure was a familiar one. Konzen Douji, radiating palpable annoyance, was walking along the same pathway in the opposite direction. He was wearing what Homura was coming to recognise as his usual air of perpetual displeasure. And he was muttering irritably under his breath. “ . . . Of all things . . . Damned monkey . . .”

They almost passed each other by without incident, but Konzen recognised him despite his pique. His expression darkened instantly and he would have kept going if Homura had not nodded his way. 

“You have some nerve,” Konzen began sharply. “What the hell were you thinking back then?”

“Trying to avoid potential embarrassment--I doubt they could have identified us.”

“Trying to what? You have a very odd idea of what constitutes _embarrassing_!” 

“And good evening to you too, Konzen Douji,” Homura murmured. The courtier’s trick. Politeness when none was called for. He hoped that it would stem the flow of invective that Konzen seemed primed to unleash on his ears. “What are you doing out so late?”

That turned out to be a mistake. The vein in Konzen’s temple actually bulged out at the question.

“I would have been saved this meeting if I hadn’t been looking for a certain wayward monkey,” Konzen said through gritted teeth. No pretence of courtesy there.

Homura could not stop himself from asking, “Is it dinner time then? Or bath time?”

The outraged look on Konzen’s face was answer enough.

“I know I may have been reduced to an animal trainer but--”

There had to be other ways to shut Konzen up when his voice attained that grating tone other than this. But it was not unpleasant. Konzen’s lips were soft like a woman’s. And he tasted clean . . .

“Are you insane?” Konzen hissed at him when they drew apart. Or rather, he drew away, unsuccessfully suppressing the flush that coloured his fair skin. “Just _what_ do you think you’re doing?”

“Nothing. Just . . . wondering. You might find your ward in the fields just east of here. I saw him there once.”

“Eh? He goes out that far?” Konzen appeared startled. Had that been a trace of concern there? Definitely concern . . .

Homura shrugged as if to say _it’s none of my business ___.

“Thank you. Excuse me, _Taishi_.” And Konzen stalked off, leaving Homura to regard his stiff back thoughtfully.

_Untouched . . ._

* * * * * * * * * * *

_Genjo Sanzo--despite his title, despite his supposed calling as a monk--was far from naïve. Nor was he innocent in the way that Konzen had been. But that night, he had not sought out the company of the Marshal or the General._

_Did he know that those two would be engaged in their own brand of reassurance and catharsis after the battle that day? Or did he even care?_

_Homura kept his promise in his own way. If Shien and Zenon knew that he had gone to confront them again on his own, they never outwardly indicated their approval or disapproval in any way._

_Kenren and Tenpou--or Gojyo and Hakkai as they were known in this life--were . . . otherwise occupied. It was late and Son Goku was safely asleep. Konzen too had retired to his room in the otherwise unremarkable inn in another anonymous town._

_Entering the right room was a simple matter. The residue of cigarette smoke hung in the air as Homura automatically sought out the figure on the bed._

_Five hundred years. A mere second for the gods. Eternity for others._

_Almost._

_For he was here and Konzen was here. Almost as though no time had passed at all--_

_He had barely blinked when the steel-cold barrel of a gun was jammed under his chin. The owner of the weapon glared up at his unwelcome guest._

_"You're annoying," Konzen--no, this was definitely Sanzo--said flatly. Had he been awake all this time?_

_"You're predictable," Homura countered. "Would you like to pull the trigger and see if it actually works at close range?"_

_The pressure under his chin never abated. "I'd rather not waste my bullets or my breath. Your game doesn't interest me."_

_"Nothing ever does, it seems. Your capacity for boredom hasn't changed either."_

_"Cheh." The gun was withdrawn. "Whoever it was, whatever it was--it doesn't concern me."_

_"You seem confident that I'm not here for the Sutra, Konzen."_

_Sanzo pointedly ignored the name that was not his. "If you really were looking for the Sutra, you would have been gone by now."_

_Homura smiled. "Like a common thief in the night?"_

_"Does it matter? I have no time for the games of fools or gods." His tone indicated that he thought the two were one and the same._

_"How do you know that you're not in one, right now?"_

_"I could ask you the same question," Sanzo retorted. "What is it that you want?"_

_"What everyone wants. To control one's own destiny." The bedsprings creaked as he settled his weight down on the edge of the mattress. "To be subject to no one and nothing," Homura continued as he leaned over the priest._

_"To be free of the games the gods play. Tell me, does it bother you in the least that somewhere, someone or something else determines whether you live to see another day?" Homura's fingers traced the line of Sanzo's jaw gently, silently marvelling that something so crude as mortal flesh could contain a celestial soul._

_Sanzo did not react to Homura's touch. "I think you have absolutely no idea about what you really want."_

_"Oh?" There was no resistance when he bent to kiss that inviting mouth. He had waited long enough for this. Sanzo tasted like the cigarettes he smoked, charred and bitter, but that was merely an irrelevant detail when he responded in kind._

_"You wouldn't be here otherwise," Sanzo said when they broke apart. Those almost-angry, almost-cold eyes--they were the same as they had been above the barrel of a gun._

_"Who knows? You could be right." The next kiss was less prolonged, tinged with a strange urgency. Strong hands reached up and pushed back the coat from his shoulders even as Homura pulled aside the pale robes and snug-fitting leather that belonged to the most exalted of all mortals. That should have been a paradox and a lie--divine and earthly all at once. It should have been impossible, but Homura had lived in an imperfect Heaven where all the saints had gone down to Earth._

_It would have been impossible if it had been anyone but Genjo Sanzo._

_Flesh to flesh with this filthy saint after five hundred years. The end of that pilgrimage--the beginning of a new search._

_Sanzo smelled sweet. The sweet, lingering scent of decay. It was all over him. Human, mortal, full-grown with nothing to do except rot from now until the moment that this fragile clay would not support life anymore._

_So_ transient _, yet oddly intoxicating._

 _All of it. All of him. Sweat, saliva and all other secretions. So disgustingly_ mortal _. Homura could not get enough of it even as he drowned in the pure physical sensation of the act. Perhaps there was no difference between gods and mortals after all . . ._

_The creaking of the bedsprings clashed discordantly with the harshness of their uneven breaths in the aftermath. It all sounded unnaturally loud in the small room where they lay, flesh to sweaty flesh atop the soiled sheets._

_In the silence that followed, Sanzo disentangled himself and fished out a rumpled packet from his discarded robes. A minute flame flared up in the darkness and departed swiftly, leaving only the orange glow at the end of his cigarette. He did not offer Homura one._

_Eyes half-lidded and wreathed in smoke, he showed no sign of discomfort as he leaned naked against the headboard. Homura could make out the fine tracery of scars that was almost invisible against that pale flesh. He lingered on a recent scar that looked as though it could have been a fatal gut-wound. No stranger to death and violence, was Sanzo . . ._

_"You should be dead from a wound like that," he said, not making any move to touch the puckered ridge of scar tissue._

_"So I've been told." Sanzo expelled a stream of smoke and looked pointedly at the manacles that the war god wore. Point taken, Homura transferred his gaze to the cracks in the ceiling._

_"This doesn't change anything," he stated after a moment._

_Homura shrugged. "Why should it? Unless you're actually concerned about what--"_

_"What those three idiots might think? Hardly. I have my mission. You have your own screwed-up reasons to be here. Get in my way and I'll kill you."_

_"Fair enough." He pulled Sanzo down to the sweat-damp sheets, burying his fingers in the fine strands of blond hair. For now, however little time it was, he could still have *this* . . ._

_Sanzo's muttered curse was cut off halfway as he hurriedly stubbed out the remainder of his cigarette in an old enamel ashtray supplied by the inn._

_Homura was gone before dawn. Sanzo's last words would burn in his mind for quite some time afterwards._

_"You won't find Konzen here."_

* * * * * * * * * * *


	3. Encounter

* * * * * * * * * * *

_Homura watched the latest team of crack troops departing from the throne atop the raised dais. Shien stood at his left. Zenon on the right. The perfect picture of efficiency and deadly skill. And because they were soldiers, they knew that this was what soldiers did. None of them questioned the choice of sending men out on a fool's errand._

_Konzen and the other three would not go down so easily. Even a blind man could see how fate was working overtime to complete a story had began five hundred years before._

_Obstacles in their path were merely pebbles that could not disrupt the ponderous course of destiny. Naturally, Homura had no intention of stopping their journey west and he cared little about the dark power stirring in Tenjiku. What mattered was a small but vital adjustment to this tale . . ._

_Sheer chance alone had uncovered the catalyst to bring about the change. It had been right in front of him all along. There was no coincidence that Konzen, the Marshal and the General had been reunited with Son Goku. The ties linking Konzen with Son Goku, a source of power even the gods feared, were still strong. And Genjo Sanzo bore the Maten Sutra._

_All that power backing an effort to save a world. Or destroy it._

_There would be a time to wrest that that power from Konzen for his own. Soon._

_Perhaps it had been about power all along. In the end, it was all there was._

* * * * * * * * * * *

The officious sound of the ceremonial bugles signalled the beginning of a court session. And as with all court sessions in the Royal Palace, Homura ignored it as much as the walls would allow and walked on, unnoticed by the gathering courtiers in the Hall of the Heavenly Presence. It was easy to go unnoticed. The eyes of courtiers and servants alike seemed to slide right pass if they chanced to see him.

On that day however, the silken robes of the courtiers mingled with the uniforms of the military and were outnumbered, the bright spots of colour almost drowned within a sea of sombre black. The militia had little to do beyond practice drills and capturing troublesome beasts on Earth. Despite his detachment from the hubris at court, Homura knew that this was no ordinary court in session. Perhaps it was a military ceremony of sorts. Or a call to arms . . . 

It was all made clear to him when the crowd made way for two figures to approach the throne. Litouten and his son, Nataku.

The right arm of Heaven, the Celestial Army, would stand aside this time around while the left arm would be used for whatever distasteful task needed doing. Probably another glorified assassination, with Heaven's permission, no less. Homura moved on.

He should have been slightly more interested in the proceedings. After all it had only been a matter of timing and political manoeuvring that Nataku, son of Litouten, and not Homura, bastard get of Tentei's sister, stood down there to receive whatever orders Tentei had to issue.

Homura knew that to look upon Nataku was to see his own future and the one fragile barrier between his present reality and that future. Looking at Nataku was . . . difficult because while he wore no chains, Homura could see them and they were forged, link by link, with obligations of empty air that weighed as much as solid stone.

It was strange how blood formed bonds. Parentage--that unshakeable and rigid chain between the highest of the high and the _itans_ of Heaven. The strangeness of their blood that damned them and bound them here also made them brothers of a sort. And in some cases, it made them invisible to all eyes except when it was necessary.

His progress away from the Hall of the Heavenly Presence took him to the adjacent series of antechambers where the official scribes and other harried members of the Heavenly administration generated an endless stream of paperwork. For the inhabitants of this corridor, everyone else passing through might as well be invisible.

"The forms? Were they not signed?"

"No, I said that those invitations were to be _recalled_ \---"

"Whoever corrected those proofs had the brain of a diseased goat!"

"What do you mean you never received them? I had those sent here yesterday! I'll be damned if I have to review them all over again!"

A familiar voice pierced through the babble from one of the antechambers. Homura was almost knocked over by a haggard looking man hurrying out from that particular room--he seemed to be trying to break the record for speed while not actually running. The owner of the familiar voice emerged from the doorway and hollered, "And don't come back until you've found them!"

It might have been more effective if he had not been shouting almost directly into Homura's face.

Konzen's voice did, however, carry quite well and the lackey gave such a start that he collided with a scribe bearing a stack of papers. The resultant ruckus was . . . unexpected of the offices of the Heavenly Courts. 

Homura turned back to the frozen figure in the doorway and arched an eyebrow. "Konzen Douji. You found your ward, I presume?"

" _Taishi_. Your assistance was appreciated," Konzen replied stiffly. Sheets of paper started drifting down around them and a dozen voices continued swearing in a most unclerk-like fashion. By some unspoken agreement, they stepped sideways into the office, out of sight of the crowd in the corridor in case someone should decide to trace the commotion back to its source. 

Still slightly disconcerted from the battering his eardrums had taken, Homura glanced around the messy office. "Is it usually this chaotic around here?"

"This is the Recorder's Office. They're _supposed_ to keep track of all the paperwork that gets approved or rejected." Konzen's tone implied that the Recorder's Office was a glorified filing cabinet--and a very messy one at that. "That's the sixth document they've lost or misplaced this month after it came through here," he said, practically growling as he shut the door. "Useless idiots . . ."

Konzen's list of complaints trailed off as he realised that Homura was looking at him. He was obviously not used to a direct gaze like that. 

Despite the hectic pace in these offices, the Recorder had managed to provide tea for his high-ranking guest at a well-worn set of couches that had seen better days. Homura had wandered over to the window, skirting the many piles of paper on the way while watching Konzen's growing discomfort.

_How strange . . ._

Konzen was still wary. Still uncertain of how he should react to Homura. They were socially equal, if one counted these things by blood kinship and position, and Konzen was not acclimatised to the prejudices of the Heavenly Courts.

And that kind of naivete could only come from someone born high enough to never know fear.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Konzen had been first surprised and then irritated by Homura's stare. Did the man have no idea of what proper conduct was after being in Heavenly Courts for so long? Oddly enough, Konzen had not seen him at all those functions. There had been something scandalous about his birth, but Konzen was never one to pay any attention to court gossip. If he wanted to know, he could always ask Tenp--

Then Homura demonstrated that he simply had no manners. _None at all_ , Konzen realised dimly even as the blood rushed to his face.

Again, he had been surprised when Homura had moved to kiss him. And it lasted until Konzen had to pry himself loose while trying to breathe and express his outrage at the same time.

But Homura was surprisingly strong. Strong enough to press another kiss on him even though he fought it, all the while thinking that, _This is the Recorder's Office, just down the hall from the Emperor's audience chamber--anyone could just walk in._

The mortification of being caught in such an embarrassing situation distracted him long enough for Homura to slip his tongue past his lips.

And Konzen had once thought that his bitch of a relation was forward. The hag had done this once to tease him and he had fended off that attempt successfully. Homura, however, was not having a joke at his expense as he drew them both down onto the couch.

 _You can't do this here!_ he wanted to protest. Not like the courtiers and their supposed midnight assignations and secretive couplings in the gardens. For Konzen Douji, it was just not done.

Why not? the demon with the mismatched eyes seemed to ask.

_Because. Because it just wasn't done._

He had thrown the memory of the previous two incidences aside. Did Homura think that it was some kind of game like the one the courtiers played amongst themselves?

The questions were not enough for him to ignore the hands on his skin and the lips on his mouth.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Of course Homura had wanted this.

Konzen was taller than he was, even without the silly heels. And Konzen's body was a bony, angular bundle of pale limbs that fought him every step of the way. But his mouth was soft and his skin smelled clean and when Homura kissed him, he so obviously wished that he was somewhere else and not here, in the messy Recorder's Office pinned under a man he did not know.

Realising it only made Homura want it even more.

Konzen's face was red with embarrassment, torn between wanting to shout in protest and dreading the thought of being found like this. In this respect, he was like all the other courtiers and lackeys in Heaven.

He could apply himself to making Konzen's skin even redder--bring the blood up and shape a new bruise right there. He could make Konzen doubt--or at least make his body doubt itself. He could bring the pulse beneath that fine skin to beat a new, erratic rhythm. He could do all of this because Konzen was not as frigid as he seemed--only another godling here in Heaven; skin, flesh, nerves and yes, even a cock down there despite every contrary rumour that passed through the Courts of Heaven. He could do this because Konzen had no experience to counter it. And he did so until Konzen's protests weakened in the face of baser needs.

And there was still more to do. Homura dispensed with the preliminaries and tugged down Konzen's trousers.

There was hesitation, then resistance as the body under his hands became less co-operative. But it was easy to pin those slender wrists above his head and flip him over. There were protests muffled by the upholstery when he hauled those white pants down to reveal the smooth skin of Konzen's ass.

He _could_ have made it easier for Konzen--this time, this first time. But he wanted this _and no one had made his way any easier_.

Being inside him was sweet. Coming inside him was sweeter still in the certain knowledge that no one else had tasted this particular delicacy before. They didn't know what they were missing, the fools.

Homura withdrew. Each breath he took in sounded loud to his ears. He had not felt this alive for a long time. Had forgotten what pleasure had been. 

Konzen lay as he had been--a motionless heap of sweat-slicked limbs and white silk. His breath came out in shallow pants, wheezing between clenched teeth. He was practically rigid with pain when Homura turned him over. His frozen expression was that of a man who had never experienced pain before. Had never known what pain was.

* * * * * * * * * * *


	4. Aftermath

* * * * * * * * * * *

When the dark impulse faded away, Homura found it hard not to pity the other man. 

Homura had held him and stroked his fine hair, still fascinated by its golden sheen. He had kissed Konzen's firmly closed eyes, not unkindly, and tasted salt tears. When he had left, Konzen lay like a doll in the dimness of the Recorder's Office, pale and unmoving.

Perhaps he too would come to hate the shadow of helplessness that would dog him . . .

* * * * * * * * * * *

_Konzen was not like Genjo Sanzo, who refused to allow anything to touch the guarded core of his soul and lied through his teeth when something did get to him._

_Konzen . . . had delicate sensibilities. Unlike Genjo Sanzo, who barely registered surprise when he had appeared that evening after a particularly rough skirmish with Kougaiji's youkai._

_Konzen would have got on his pissy high-horse. Sanzo appeared to make no distinction between the toilet door and the inn's beds. Braced up against the thick planks and iron bolts, knuckles white from the strain. The door did not shake, so rigid were his arms as he pushed back against Homura's thrusts._

_He had been alone, stripping the soiled robes off in the privacy of one of the inn's private baths when Homura found him._

_Sanzo turned even though he had not made a sound. It had been an instinctive move--wary and tense as he searched for a new enemy. This was the killer that walked in monk's robes._

_"You again." The killer was still there, somewhere behind those shadowed eyes._

_"You've been busy, Konzen. But I didn't expect you to fall to any of that lot--that would have been . . . disappointing."_

_"If it's not your half-witted minions, it's Kougaiji's," Sanzo stated flatly. "They bore me and all of them indulge in senseless melodrama."_

_"Such a harsh critic . . ." Homura's gaze lingered on the gun that Sanzo slipped back up his sleeve--he must have seized it and kept it behind the folds of his robe in the second it took for him to turn around. If the man had been a god, he would have been formidable indeed._

_"But impartial. All of them were in my way." Sanzo made no move as Homura came closer. "What is it like, **kami**_ , to sit there and watch your underlings bumble around like the fools they are?"

There was anger there, yes. Anger and something else. Trying to understand the man was like grasping a handful of razors. Homura could almost taste the dark miasma that cloaked him from head to toe. Up close, he fancied he could almost see it. Battle after battle--the sweet taint of decay lingered on.

Homura knew it all too well. Blood, death and lust. Sanzo positively reeked of it at the moment. It was temptation itself.

It was like bare flesh coming in contact with ice. 

It burned. It burned when he had Sanzo backed against the wall, lips and skin and hands. Sanzo's pupils were almost black in the dim light, a chill void that was drawing him in.

It burned as Sanzo's hands pulled him closer. There was a recognisable urgency there. A familiar scent. Darkness welling up and boiling over . . .

 **Now** Sanzo is pressed up against the door with Homura behind him. Homura never slows down, not even when someone knocks on the door and an irate voice asks just how long the priest was going to take in there. Sanzo doesn't stop even as he curses a blue streak and scares whoever it was outside away.

It is like that. The present. The time in which they fucked. Urgency without past or future. Knowingly coupling with death, inhaling the old blood from the oceans they had waded through.

They rut like this until they were sated. And then the present changes into the past, the room smells of cigarette smoke and the scent of blood is masked by sweat.

"Are the gods always this idle?" This was a mortal man who did not believe in the gods. Or perhaps he was wroth at the gods for letting the tragedy of his youth happen.

"I am not like the other gods . . ."

Sanzo's eyes reflected the eternal anger he seemed to exude so effortlessly as he rested on the tilled edge of the bath.

"And how are you different from the other gods?" Sanzo asked around a mouthful of evil-smelling smoke. "Your minions die like the others do when you send them here, **kami**."

Sanzo's words were mocking him. Challenging him.

Homura left without a word, fading into the darkness and crossing the distance to the Tower. His own sanctuary down here on Earth.

His anger was slow to abate and he forced it aside with some effort. He had nothing to prove to Genjo Sanzo. Only to the gods in Heaven, unaware of his true purpose here on Earth.

Did they think he would not do it, when the power was almost within his grasp?

* * * * * * * * * * *

The marks on his skin had faded rapidly. The soreness inside him took a little while longer to subside, but it made no difference. No difference at all.

Scandal and infamy. They would enjoy it, up here in Heaven. Bored stupid across the many centuries, the courtiers tittered over choice bits of gossip like a flock of malicious birds, all beady eyes with sharp beaks ready to tear into anyone who exposed the slightest weakness.

Konzen Douji would have no part in it.

 _What right did that man have to--_

**How dare he presume?**

But he _had_ presumed. In the damned Recorder's Office.

It had been a wonder how he had managed to stand up again and set his clothes to rights. But he had. Konzen had gone on to beret the next two clerks who had been fingered in the chain of blame for the misplacement of documents amounting to a whole day's work for him. 

He prided himself on the fact that he had not run to his quarters for a much-needed bath even though he felt the cold slickness seeping down the inside of his thighs. The soreness did not impede his progress as he walked back at a sedate pace and tried to scrub away all evidence of that encounter even though it did hurt to reach down there and make sure that no trace of . . . that man's leavings remained. He had even managed to make it through the boring dinner he had gone to in place of his exalted and holy hag of a relation before retiring to his quarters again. 

Goku had been sent to Tenpou's for the evening and Konzen had recalled, too late, that he could never trust the Marshal to have any regular mealtimes. But the boy had returned, stuffed full and scruffy in the way that only children could be after only a few hours of play. Apparently Kenren had a hand in making sure both Tenpou and Goku had some form of dinner that day, for which Konzen was silently thankful for. He would have been unable to deal with a hungry monkey on top of everything else.

Not that he wanted to remember any of _that_. No, it had not happened because such things did not happen to Konzen Douji. 

Konzen Douji had work to do. And a monkey to take care of. Heaven alone knew how much time that took . . .

"--and then Ken-nii-chan said that if Ten-chan didn't put that book down now, he was going to drag or carry him out," Goku chattered on, leaving a trail of damp footprints on the floor as he wandered out from the bath. Despite himself, Konzen's fastidious nature was irked by the mess the boy was making. And he still had no idea of what to do a comb, judging by the botch he had made of his hair.

"And Ten-chan said that that'd count as an as-sault-onna-superior-officer--"

"Oh give me that!" Konzen snapped, taking the comb away from Goku and started on the tangled mop of damp hair that stuck out in all directions like spines on a sea urchin.

"--but Ken-nii-chan said something about him liking it well enough last night and Ten-chan said that he'll see about that later. What'd he mean, huh? Konzen?"

Even Konzen, isolated as he was at the administrative end of the bureaucracy, had heard about the Marshal and the General. He had wondered privately if Tenpou minded the rumours that claimed that he was the General's wife. After meeting Kenren, he had known almost at once that the brash, headstrong officer was hardly the kind of man who could exercise any form of control over the Marshal. Not that it was any of his business.

Tenpou, he knew, could take care of himself. Tenpou would probably never be caught in a situation like the one this afternoon--

"--Konzen?"

"It's none of your business, _saru_ ," Konzen muttered, combing through another knot of hair.

Goku shrugged at the particularities of adult folk and continued prattling on about his favourite part of the evening, "So we went out and had fried dumplings, hot-plate beancurd, mock mutton soup and bean-jam pancakes. It was _great_! When are we gonna have bean-jam pancake again, huh? Maybe you should go out to dinner with Ken-nichan and Ten-chan more often--"

"Do you ever shut up?" Konzen asked wearily.

"Why?" Goku countered immediately.

"Because some people _like_ silence."

"I can be quiet! Really!"

"Good!"

But of course, almost a minute later, Goku piped up again, "Can I talk now?"

Goku wanted to read the latest books he had borrowed from Tenpou; Konzen had no energy to argue with him. _The Adventures of Anpan_ occupied him for a time before he dropped off in the middle of the luridly illustrated battle between a bun and what _could_ have been a bottle of soy sauce. Intelligent as he was, Tenpou had decidedly . . .odd tastes in reading matter, Konzen thought as he disentangled Goku from the book.

Watching the monkey sleep, Konzen thought for a moment that ignorance was truly bliss. He finally retired into his own mire of dark thoughts, only to wake again early the next morning, feeling distinctly unrested.

Glaring at the ceiling, he willed himself to forget it all. That sort of thing definitely did not happen to Konzen Douji. Not in the accursed Recorder's Office with the open door and not with some ill-bred minor princeling from the bloody Royal Palace. Even thinking about it made him cringe with shame--it had almost felt pleasurable for a moment. Then the pain of that abrupt entry had made him weep like a damn woman.

Ill-tempered and impatient, Konzen hauled himself out of bed and managed to get Goku to wake up after several attempts. He sent Goku off to play in the garden for the morning and took himself off to work.

His personal daily trial began when he reported to the offices of his immediate superior.

As always, almost like a daily greeting, Kanzeon Bosatsu leered at him over the top of the report he had submitted for approval. Wearing the minimum amount of silk and gauze required to veil the male and female parts of the form it had chosen, the Compassionate One radiated an earthly sensuality that hinted of its less saintly aspect--a patron of fertility with origins older and darker than most other gods. Perched cross-legged atop its desk, the Goddess of Mercy regarded his discomfort with thinly veiled amusement. 

Konzen fixed his gaze on a spot on the wall of the office somewhere above the Bodhisattva's left shoulder. He did not need this right now, not from anyone and especially not from his lecherous superior . . .

Adding to his embarrassment was the fact that Kanzeon of the Thousand Arms--the arms that were supposed to reach out to those in need--was also his aunt. Uncle. Whatever it chose to be. Konzen thought--very often--that his exalted relation was aptly dubbed, though not for any compassion acts. He had never seen Kanzeon reach out a helping hand to anyone--aside from the hand that was always questing for opportunities to grope his ass when he wasn't on his guard.

"You're in a fine mood today," Kanzeon remarked. "Has your charge been keeping you up late?"

"It's the work that I don't have enough time for, now that you've saddled me with that chattering nuisance," Konzen growled, barely able to keep a civil tongue.

"Poor Konzen . . ." The old bitch laughed gaily. "Come sit on my lap like you used to when you were a child . . ."

He struck aside the offending hand that had been reaching for him with more force than he had intended.

 _That_ had been a mistake. Kanzeon's eyes narrowed, all good humour evaporating in a flash. "And what is the matter with you now, hmmm?"

"What in the world do you mean?" he snapped, trying to cover up his slip. He could probably fool Tenpou--he could fool anyone in Heaven except his annoying all-seeing, all-hearing relative.

"You aren't normally this frigid--oh wait, you _are_ usually like that, but there's something different . . ." Those sharp eyes measured him up slowly and Konzen's heart sank because the old bitch would know--

"Didn't sleep well, did you?"

Konzen told himself that paranoia was making him hear the suspicious note in that question.

"Something's bothering you?"

"No. And it's none of your business even if there was."

"Well, if _you_ think so . . . You were always a stubborn little boy, but you've got to grow up some day . . ." The Goddess of Mercy set down the reports without comment. Just when Konzen's hopes rose, she handed him another stack. "Come on, you know what the reward is for a job well done . . ."

Konzen thought a very rude word.

When he was safely away from Kanzeon Bosatsu's unnerving presence with his new workload, Konzen allowed his relief to show. Kanzeon had let the matter slide--he barely believed his luck. Now if only he could forget that it ever happened . . .

* * * * * * * * * * *


	5. Wrong and Unseemly

* * * * * * * * * * *

_There is an old story--its origins lost in time--about a holy man who travelled west and obtained the Sutras that held the power to make or unmake the world. There might have been a few discrepancies in the telling of the tale, but it was very clear on one thing._

_The journey had ended and the Sutras were brought into the care of a mortal priesthood._

_So when another quest was started, it was entirely conceivable that the journey would follow certain patterns set by an ancient precedent . . ._

_What would it take to stop_ this _story?_

* * * * * * * * * * *

When no summons came for him, Homura pondered that afternoon in the Recorder's Office and came to the realisation that he did not regret the act at all. He did regret that Konzen had not consented to it and that he, Homura, should have known better. The man had been practically untouched after all, but that fact had only fanned the dark desire that ruled him for that brief time.

He had known the insidious thrill of it as he sated his lust. It was want in its basest form. It did not conceive of being denied. It was far too simple an idea in itself--desire and action following each other without thought or pause. It did not care about consequences and in a way, it was free of the constraints of Heaven and therefore alien.

_Heretic, was it?_

* * * * * * * * * * *

_Friendship and brotherhood. Did a being not born of Heaven or a mortal mother understand those concepts?_

_He had offered them to Son Goku. Son Goku with his limiters and his entirely human way of thinking._

_It was, he had guessed, too much to hope for that Son Goku would take him up on it._

_The storm had passed. Somewhere to the east, a jeep and its occupants would be on their way again._

_"You don't seem surprised." Silent and watchful at his flank, Shien spoke up for the first time since they had conceded the battlefield once again._

_"Should I be?"_

_"Does it matter? In the end, one way or the other . . ." Zenon perched at one corner of the dais, reassembled his gun and checked the loading mechanism with almost loving care._

_It should not have mattered. It couldn't have been that easy to pry the boy away from his keeper. That particular bond was the strongest safeguard of all. Still, it would have been no small victory to win Son Goku from Konzen . . ._

_Homura shrugged. "As you said--one way or the other."_

* * * * * * * * * * *

Konzen Douji told himself that he was beyond embarrassment. There was nothing to be embarrassed about. He was, after all, doing a favour for his holier than holy aunt. 

Then again, his dearest auntie was not the one crawling under tables and following a trail of sticky red bean paste in search of one troublesome monkey. Half the afternoon had been lost to the search already. For the hundredth time that day, Konzen cursed the errand that had brought him to the Palace and the impulse that had driven Goku to follow him. With unerring timing, Goku had announced his presence at noon. And he was _starving_. 

According to the manuals on childcare that Tenpou had provided--entirely unasked and unwanted, he might add--children were curious and it was not the least bit surprising for them to disobey adults all the time. The manuals did not however, explain _why_ Konzen Douji had to put up with it. Already at the end of his rope, Konzen had found him lunch to keep him quiet. Then Goku had wandered off into the maze-like Palace when he had been diverted for the merest second by some hapless flunky.

Images of all the potential trouble Goku could cause in the Palace had spurred him into action. Almost an hour later, he was weary of the chase and almost ready to give up. The Palace complex was just far too large . . .

He did not feel up to asking Tenpou for help. But if he was going to be a laughingstock, he might as well be one amongst the few friends he actually had. Perhaps he would go to the Marshal's office later . . . if he could not find Goku after this last set of rooms.

"Goku? We have to go back now!"

Konzen sighed and checked another alcove, which turned out to be an unused room with no furnishings for hiding places. Goku was small enough to wriggle into the most unlikely hiding places--especially ones that he, being significantly taller, could not fit into. And the last smudgy bean paste-coated handprint he had seen had been two corridors ago--

"Konzen--what are you doing in there?"

 _Homura._ He froze as he finally registered the presence behind him. Too late--he had let his guard down _here_ of all places. While imagining the trouble Goku could get into, he had forgotten about his personal demon.

Only he was no longer a spectre of bad dreams now. Homura was actually _here_ \--standing far too close for comfort and blocking the way out of the room.

"What are you doing here?" he snapped, opting for the offensive out of desperation.

"I should be asking _you_ that. Surprising as it seems, I actually live here."

They were, Konzen realised with growing alarm, in a relatively isolated wing of the Emperor's Palace. And Homura lived there.

That mocking smile again. _Can you stop me?_

Konzen Douji could only back away as the other came closer.

Cold to the pit of his stomach, he shoved again at Homura's shoulders ineffectively. The warrior prince was not like the other gods, and more than a match for someone who had done nothing more strenuous than running after a hyperactive brat for the past few centuries. And, Konzen realised a moment before absolute panic descended upon him, Homura probably didn't care about who he was or who his relations were. Refreshing as that might have been—

Was it his imagination or did Homura actually look more demonic up close?

No, there really was a demon in front of him--he could have sworn that those unnatural eyes were glowing as Homura leaned in closer.

The flat of Konzen's hand connected sharply with Homura's nose and shoved with the momentary strength born of panic. It made his hand and arm ache, but there had been a definite sense of satisfaction that followed that blow. Wrong and unseemly as it was . . . 

Homura jerked back and the strange fire in his gaze seemed to subside. Konzen retreated as much as he could in the cramp space.

"Are you usually this cold to friends and lovers alike?"

"Listen, I'd rather copulate with a rabid hyena," he said, seizing his rapidly recovering outrage and using it as a shield.

At that point, Konzen would have done it with his perverted hag of an aunt. Only he didn't say it aloud--the fates might actually be listening for once. He didn't even _know_ which was the lesser of the two evils. And perhaps this was hysteria talking--too loud and too fast . . . 

" _Would_ you now?" Those sly, knowing eyes said _No, you don't know the first thing about it._

"You've never really touched yourself, have you?" Homura asked conversationally. "Like this?"

"Stop that," Konzen snapped even as he reddened. He tried to pry Homura's hand off, but it was a futile gesture. Just like this fight. He turned his head, steeling himself for the worst to come.

"Don't look away. Don't even try," Homura whispered, a sharp threat gloved in velvet tones. His mismatched eyes never left him as his hands slid lower.

In the end, Konzen found that he could not look away.

* * * * * * * * * * *

_How to seduce something that was not of Heaven but purely of the Earth and no mortal parent?_

_Would an elemental being know what revenge was? Could Son Goku’s original form understand what had been done to it?_

_The earth child was strong, to be sure. Stronger than the boy who was blinded by the perceived limitations set on him by Heaven. And it was reputed to be impossible to reason with, more of a destructible force of nature than a rational being._

_On the other hand, Son Goku, with his human thoughts and mortal emotions, was ever so firmly bonded to Konzen’s cause._

_Or rather, bonded to Konzen himself. Homura conceded defeat, knowing himself outmatched. What power had he, to challenge a force that had shaped destiny? After all, he was not mortal, possessing the blood of his formerly immortal mother that chained him to Heaven._

_This irked him a little—the sharp feeling of bitter irony that pricked him occasionally._

_Son Goku’s cooperation was not entirely necessary if all they wanted was the power for the ritual. Still, it would have gone a little way in soothing what could be seen as a gross inequality in the scales . . ._

* * * * * * * * * * *

When Konzen awoke, there was nothing except an aching soreness to indicate that it had been anything but a dream. 

He got to his feet, absently noting that he had been resting on a stone bench facing an ornamental lake somewhere in the Palace interior. Perhaps he had drifted off—

No, that was just wishful thinking. He sat back down again, aware of the scent of the half god on him. It smelt a little like scorched earth, dark and charred.

That scent brought back more than Konzen Douji would have liked to remember. Wrong and unseemly as it had been . . .

“Konzen! Konzen!” A soft weight cannoned into his side, unbalancing him from his perch on the bench and effectively derailing his train of thought.

"Oi Konzen? What are you doing here?" Goku showed no sign of moving from where he was seated on Konzen’s torso. “We’ve looked everywhere for you!”

There was something about Goku that inevitably unleashed Konzen’s store of righteous indignation, regardless of the time or place. “Wh--Where have you been? Stupid monkey! I searched all over the place for *hours*--”

“I went to find Ten-chan and Ken-nii-chan. ‘Cos you kept talking to all those boring people,” Goku explained brightly. This was confirmed by the approach of a pair of familiar toilet slippers and a set of non-regulation leather boots with steel toecaps.

“Yep, the party never stops with us,” the General said with an idiotic grin.

"Napping the sun? Getting old are we?" Tenpou asked, half in jest.

New awareness of Tenpou's regard gave him pause. He could recognise something in that look. Something in that tone of voice. So familiar . . . he had seen its kindred barely an hour ago in an alien visage. But a professional soldier like Tenpou was so much better at hiding it than Homura had been.

_Not you too . . ._

"I'm fine," he said shortly. Didn’t Tenpou already have a paramour on a regular basis? Did the denizens of Heaven mentally undress each other like his aunt did on a daily basis? But Kanzeon leered as a matter of _habit_ —there was nothing threatening in it.

_Was there?_

“Well, you better get up before people get the wrong idea,” Kenren said with a meaningfully raised eyebrow. “Wrong-er than the ones they’re already having, of course.”

“Saaa, not in front of Goku,” Tenpou murmured mildly over his customary cigarette.

Looking from General to Marshal, Konzen recognised the slight sexual friction between them almost immediately. It was the Goku-almost-caught-us-breaking-rule-fifty-seven-section-three-on-the-desk-and-we’re-still-horny kind of tension. 

“What? What about me? What were you going to say?”

Konzen groaned inwardly. If this led to any embarrassing questions, he would kill the pair of them--slowly, over hot coals. There would be forks involved—very sharp pointy ones.

“Nothing,” Tenpou and Kenren chorused, eyeing the vein throbbing on Konzen’s forehead in the manner of miners who listened to canaries.

Goku analysed this and threw it aside in favour of more pressing concerns. “I’m hungry!”

Kenren slapped his forehead in amazement. “Not again! We just had tea!”

“But that was almost an hour ago!” Goku whined.

Konzen was torn between taking Goku off their hands and sharing the misery of a hyperactive monkey with his sole friendly acquaintances—who would probably keep throwing coded glances at each other the whole evening until they could be alone again.

The unwelcome insight reminded him of every single ache and twinge he was feeling. If he was going to be sore, then he was not going to be uncomfortable alone.

“Shut up,” Konzen said decisively. “We go for dinner. Then you’re going to bathe and get to sleep an hour early.” 

Tenpou and Kenren exchanged one of those we’re-only-doing-this-for-the-cute-little-monkey looks. “Haaaaiii, _otousan_ . . .You heard him, kiddo, let’s go . . .”

“Only if we’re having those pancakes for dessert! Can we? Can we—”

Surrounded by the familiar bickering, Konzen let himself be dragged away.

* * * * * * * * * * *

_For all the mortal ties that he held so close to his heart, Genjo Sanzo never appeared overly affected by the presence of friend or foe._

_"You again." His attentions were clearly unwanted here in this dark room that reeked of far too many cigarettes and flat beer._

_"It seems like I can't detach Goku from you even now, Konzen."_

_"For the last time, I don't care about what you want. Your reasons, if any, don't interest me."_

_“Oh? He might have joined my cause. That night in the woods . . . you saw his face.”_

_"He could have gone to you," Sanzo admitted, grinding out the last cigarette in the overflowing ashtray. "But that wouldn't have mattered."_

_Liar. He was lying through his teeth. At least Konzen had been honest in the end. Correction--Konzen had learned a lot faster. He had required only_ one _close scrape with death to realise what was important. Mortals took it for granted all the time and later--much too late--they always wished that things could have been different._

_So he had to push Sanzo--just to see how far he could be pushed._

_"Would you say that to me here? Now? Knowing that I could rid you of your three burdens in seconds? Just say the word--"_

_Homura caught the fist meant for his face just before it could connect, wrenching Sanzo's arm down and twisting it up behind his back. He used the leverage it gave him to push Sanzo facedown on the table._

_"You can't seem to shrug them off as easily as you do me," Homura whispered into his ear. He was leaning on Sanzo's back, hips pressed up against the priest's rear--it took so much control to keep himself from fucking him here and now._

_"Fuck you." Sanzo's voice was challenging--reckless and arrogant in his anger. Or so one might think. And how many could really think straight while in such close proximity with this man?_

_“I don’t think so.” He hauled the priest upright before propelling him back first onto the tabletop. “There might be questions about the bruises,” Homura said, fastening one hand around the slender column of Sanzo’s all too mortal throat._

_Winded from the impact, the priest gasped for breath but did not attempt to remove the hand from his neck. His glare was back in full force, derisive and haughty. No, this man would not move even for the gods._

_“Or I could just crush your windpipe with my thumb,” Homura said sharply, knowing himself mocked and hating it that Konzen as a mortal could do that to him._

_“Why don’t you?” That disdainful glare challenged him to move._

_“Much as I would like to, it’s more fun this way if you live.”_

_“Games again . . . How like the gods,” Sanzo hissed despite the pressure around his neck. “What’s the point? It’s not a good day until someone alive notices what a prick you are?”_

_Oh but he did not play fair, this mortal Genjo Sanzo. Not even with death staring him in the face._

_"Much as I like you like this, Konzen . . . Not this time." Homura released him and stepped away before the temptation grew too strong. He would not be provoked by Konzen’s incarnation, satisfying as it would be to break that fragile mortal shell._

_Sanzo snorted. “I don’t have all fucking eternity.”_

_“Ah, now ___that _is the point,” Homura said with a grim smile before teleporting away._

__

* * * * * * * * * * *


End file.
